RATING: R for mildly nasty language.
DISCLAIMER, NOTES: See part 1.
Journal entry #4. March 6, 2001.
My name is Liz Parker, and I think this project of mine is through. I don't know why I ever thought that Isabel Evans would open up to me in the first place.
It was probably Max's fault. He gets these ideas, and… god, I just can't say no to him. Not when the request is a reasonable one. He didn't want to get back together, he didn't want me to save the world, he just wanted me to talk to his sister. And he does this thing… where he has so much faith in you that you have to try, because you can't bear to let him down.
I can't help but think that my first instinct was right. I can't do this; I shouldn't be doing this. It's not my place; I should have just told Max no and let it be. Why did I think I could help? Isabel and I have virtually nothing in common. I mean, she's popular and I'm not. She's an alien, and I'm not. It must be hard enough on her that she's seen with me, that I'm around her a lot, she must feel like she has to overcompensate or something… I don't know. Who am I kidding, I don't know what the group politics are of the people she knows. And if it weren't for me, maybe none of these difficult things would be happening to her. If Max hadn't saved my life, there's every chance that nobody would know about them, that nobody would have found them out.
I changed her whole world, why wouldn't she hate me?
Liz sighed as she opened her locker, letting the sight of its organized and clean contents relax and reassure her. It had been just one day since she'd foolishly tried to research Isabel Evans by following her around school. The memory of it was still enough to make her cheeks burn with embarrassment; it had been less than twenty-four hours, after all. The small brunette shrugged off her backpack and rearranged it to hang in front of her as she scanned her homework situation and packed up her texts, binders, and notebooks accordingly. As she zipped the pack up again, she turned her head sharply to her left, a small sound catching her attention in the otherwise deserted hallway. She'd stayed after school to talk to her chem lab teacher about the experiment she performed… less than satisfactorily that morning. Once she explained that she'd been rather distracted lately with "personal problems", Miss Wapinski had smiled in understanding and graciously allowed her to give it another try. Liz finally shook her head, deciding that she must have imagined the sound and chastised herself for being so paranoid. She reached behind her with practiced ease and shut her locker door.
And screamed. Michael, who had been standing just behind her locker door, winced and rubbed his ear vigorously with one index finger.
"Got a set of lungs, don'tcha Parker?" he commented offhandedly, and Liz tried to control her breathing as she clutched her school bag to her chest.
"Michael, what the hell?" she said breathlessly, and jumped about a foot in the air when Miss Wapinski threw her classroom door open and practically ran out of it, looking alarmed.
"Liz, my goodness, are you all right?" she asked with wide eyes. Michael smirked.
"Oh… I'm so sorry, Miss Wapinski, I'm fine. Michael just… he startled me," Liz stammered, and glared when Michael chuckled under his breath. Miss Wapinski seemed confused by Michael's presence.
"Oh. Well. I, uh, suppose… I see. Until tomorrow, then, Liz?" Liz nodded in assent and waved, her teacher giving them a tight smile before returning to her classroom. Once she was safely out of sight again, Liz smacked Michael as hard as she dared on his upper arm.
"You scared the crap out of me," she admonished, trying to get her backpack to hang correctly on her back and stalk angrily away from him at the same time. Her backpack, however, wasn't cooperating, and she pulled at it viciously with frustration as she walked. She heard Michael heave a sigh from behind her before he easily caught up and stopped her forward motion by grabbing her shoulders with his large hands. "What are you doing?" Liz whined, trying to break free of his grasp, but he jerked her back.
"Quit moving," he muttered, and she complied with a roll of her eyes. Satisfied that she wasn't going anywhere, Michael deftly flipped both of her backpack straps over so that it hung from her shoulders the way it was supposed to. Liz craned her neck to catch a glimpse of Michael standing behind her.
"Are you through?" she asked, and couldn't quite keep the irritation out of her voice. Michael always managed to make her feel like a little girl somehow. It annoyed the hell out of her.
"Yup," he answered shortly, punctuating the response with a small shove to the back of her head, which sent her forward a couple staggering steps. Liz whirled around, fully prepared to chew him out, but stopped short at seeing the smirk still plastered on his face. Instead, she made a strangled noise in her throat and walked away.
Trouble was, Michael walked away with her, thereby defeating the purpose of walking away in the first place.
"What do you want, Michael?" Liz caved, stopping a few steps short of the double doors at the end of the hallway.
"I was just curious about your take on the incredibly paranoid and mostly nonsense one-sided conversation Isabel had with herself in my apartment last night. It was kinda funny seeing her all worked up like that, but I did get the impression that I should figure it out. Something about you and stalking?" Michael crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows in anticipation of Liz's answer. She sighed heavily, running the fingers of her left hand through her hair.
"Look, it was a dumb thing to do, I know that, but my intentions were good," Liz said calmly. Michael didn't reply for a moment, and she watched him lean back casually on the dividing beam between the exit doors, effectively turning the attitude up a notch.
"Parker, I'm gonna tell you this one more time. If you want to talk to Isabel, just go do it. Don't expect her to talk to you back, but just get the disappointment over with and try to move on, okay?" Michael said condescendingly, and Liz bristled at the tone.
"Michael, what is your problem? It's not like I'm bugging you to open up to me, so why do you even care?" Liz asked wearily.
"Hey, I don't care if you want to talk to Isabel… give it a go, whatever. I do care when your strange little attempt at espionage freaks Isabel out, though. You have no idea how long I had to listen to her babble about it. And besides, this whole idea is just… weird." Michael shrugged, as if to illustrate his point.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Liz queried, suddenly a little on edge.
"Whatever. You and Isabel? Talking? It's strange. It's like… unnatural or something. The only reason you and Isabel would ever talk is because Max let our secret slip to you when he saved your life. That doesn't change who you and Isabel are, and you never would have spoken otherwise." He shrugged again, and Liz's face scrunched up in confusion.
"What are you talking about? What Max did… it changed everybody. You never would have spoken to Maria otherwise, and you two are dating."
"We’re not dating."
"Fine, whatever, you're involved." Liz rolled her eyes. He sounded just like Maria.
"Maria has nothing to do with this. I'm talking about Isabel here," Michael said loudly, his arms dropping to his sides.
"I don't get it," Liz countered, shaking her head. "Why are you getting so worked up about this? Maybe Isabel needs someone to talk to, is that so strange?"
"Look, Isabel doesn't need anyone she doesn't already have. If it was important, she'd tell Max and me about it, end of story!" Michael continued angrily, getting in Liz's face. She refused to be intimidated by it.
"Max says otherwise. And everyone needs somebody to talk to, and lots of times it helps if the person isn't as close to them. It's one of the main reasons why people go to therapists: they're completely objective. Nobody's strong enough to go through everything alone," Liz concluded, staring levelly at Michael.
"Isabel does not need your help. Isabel is stronger than you'll ever know," Michael said with quiet intensity, looking directly into Liz's eyes. Liz said nothing for a long moment, just processing everything that was just said. Her silence made Michael uncomfortable, and he moved restlessly back to the doors, leaning against them again, but the air of confident attitude was gone.
"Maybe you're right," Liz said quietly, staring off at the empty hallway. After a moment, Miss Wapinski stepped into the hallway again, her large shoulder bag stuffed with teacher-stuff. Liz watched as she locked the classroom door and looked in their direction. A strange look crossed her face, but she replaced it with another tight smile as she nodded in greeting. The setting sun shot broken rays of fiery colored light in through the glass doors and windows that formed the other end of the hallway. They played around the retreating form of her chemistry teacher, filtering through the frazzled stray curls of her hair as they escaped from the large clip that held them neatly away from her face by day. The magically tricky light darted in and out of the folds of her ankle-length denim skirt, making it look like a wonderfully golden dress, like something from a fairy tale story. Liz thought distantly that Miss Wapinski was probably beautiful at home just as she tossed a last puzzled glance at the two kids before leaving the school.
"… tell me that." Liz shook her head, looking at Michael again.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Michael scowled at her, no doubt peeved that she hadn't been listening to him.
"I said, that's a great observation, but you didn't need to tell me that. I'm already on board with that theory." Liz pressed her lips together in tired aggravation. She just wished suddenly that Michael wasn't there.
"Michael, would you leave me alone if I told you I was going to let this go?" Liz rubbed at a spot above her right eyebrow while Michael processed that.
"So, wait, you're just going to forget about the whole Isabel thing?" he asked dubiously, and Liz nodded. Michael shrugged and slipped outside without another word. Liz followed his retreating form with her eyes until he was out of sight. It occurred to her suddenly that her teacher was probably thrown by the sight of her and Michael together. Liz shrugged and yawned, exiting the building by the same doors that Michael just had. She wasn't surprised. As far as the vast majority of people working at or attending West Roswell High were concerned, Liz Parker and Michael Guerin were from two different worlds.